Lost Without You
by Amanda Rex
Summary: Hermione has always wondered if it was her responsibility to find the bit of information hidden in a book somewhere that would allow Harry to defeat Voldemort once and for all. HG-RW. COMPLETE
1. Prologue

_Thank you to my beta, kjcp._

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Prologue

Hermione tried not to pace as she waited for Ron and Harry in the Gryffindor common room. Her bag felt heavy on her shoulder, and she set it down at her feet.

It was a simple thing, really. Getting up, dressing, walking to the Great Hall for breakfast. Even the simple things had become difficult this year, as she and Ron had to watch Harry whittled away to nothing but an empty shell. The worst part was that there was absolutely nothing they could do to stop it.

"Come on, Harry," Ron called, appearing on the boys' staircase. "You'd think you didn't want to go to Herbology." Hermione could hear the full truth in his voice, although she doubted anyone else could. He was trying to sound as though he was teasing Harry for being late, but an undercurrent of concern ran underneath, on a frequency only she could hear.

"I don't have my essay," Harry said, his tone flat and his eyes a little glazed.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, and Hermione felt as though she was about to cry.

"I've got it, Harry, remember? I have Ron's as well. I took them for safekeeping last night, before we all went to sleep."

She wasn't surprised that he didn't seem to remember, although it saddened her to watch him in this state. Harry had spent most of their sixth year in a haze, forever struggling to block out the visions Voldemort sent him. He was trying to master Occlumency, learn to block out the images, but he was still quite susceptible to them while he slept.

In the visions, Harry had been forced to watch one person in his life after another tortured and abused by Death Eaters. Each time, they discovered the images were false and the person in question was unharmed. Though Harry began to accept that each bombardment of his mind showed him only things that might be, the strain of living through the visions had turned Harry into a shadow of his former self.

Ron seemed to consider it his job to get Harry through the day, rousting him out of bed most mornings and dragging him from place to place. Hermione had taken it upon herself to remind Harry of class assignments that needed to be done, helping him whenever he needed it. She'd even written sections of essays for him, putting aside her guilt by promising herself she would make sure Harry learned the material later, once he put the nighttime visions behind him.

Lavender and Parvati whisked past them, quiet at first, but then Hermione could hear them whispering furiously to each other as they stepped through the portrait hole. She could have throttled them, though she knew most of the school had heard one rumor or another about Harry and the reasons for his recent behavior. She pursued them doggedly when they first began, telling off anyone she caught spreading them, but that only seemed to add fuel to the fire.

"Come on, you two," Hermione said, trying to keep her tone light. "I, for one, don't intend to let the labors of the house elves go to waste. Let's at least grab a glass of pumpkin juice before lessons."

"Oh, Hermione, not the house elves' plight speech again, yeah?" Ron volleyed back, but half-heartedly. It was exhausting for both of them, acting as though nothing was wrong and trying to keep things around Harry as normal as possible.

Hermione shut her eyes for a moment as she recalled the one time she'd tried to talk to Harry directly about his withdrawal from his life and everything around him. It had been a disaster, with Harry shouting that neither of them would ever understand. She still felt a bit guilty for wanting to yell back at him, tell him that he hadn't faced it all alone. She'd kept it back, sitting next to Ron in the sixth year boys' dormitory and silently taking the few shouted sentences that Harry spared them before he'd stormed out.

That was the last spark of fire she'd seen in him before he pulled into himself, and although she knew they hadn't been wrong for expressing her concern, she still hated that their confrontation of him seemed to have been the catalyst for his current condition.

"You needn't worry about the house elves, Ron. I'm sure their freedom will be secured one day, with or without your help."

"But for now, we shouldn't let their work go to waste, like you said. So, that means plenty of bacon for me, then."

Hermione sighed with an exasperation she didn't feel, and put one hand on each boy's back and pushed. She allowed herself a moment of relief as Harry began to walk, and they made their way downstairs to the Great Hall.

* * *

That evening, after she'd made notes on Harry's assignment for History of Magic the next day, she collapsed gratefully onto her bed. She and Ron had shared another private look in the common room, and she knew he would make sure Harry rewrote the changes in his own handwriting before they went up to bed.

She laid back and tried to sleep, but after staring at the canopy of her bed hangings for far too long, she realized it was useless. She thought it must be long past midnight, and she still couldn't get the image of Harry staring listlessly into space during their lessons out of her head.

Hermione crossed her legs under the sheet, throwing her suddenly too-thick blanket to the side. It seemed hopeless. She felt queasy with fear at the idea that there _was_ no answer, but then she pushed it away.

Of course there was an answer. She just hadn't found it yet. She needed more time.

She got out of bed, sleep now seeming highly irrelevant, and pulled on her robes over her nightdress. She stuffed her feet into her shoes and headed quietly from the room she shared with Parvati and Lavender, looking down at the prefect's badge that would save her from detention if Filch caught her out of bed after hours. She knew she was abusing her responsibility, but she simply didn't care anymore.

She had a greater responsibility. Deep down, she'd always wondered if everyone assumed she would be the one to find the key, the bit of information hidden in a book somewhere that would allow Harry to defeat Voldemort once and for all. She'd always wanted to ask. The question burned at her lips whenever she was near Professor Dumbledore.

Tonight was the night she would get her answer.

A _Lumos_ spell and her sure, even footsteps carried her to Dumbledore's office, although she had no clue how to gain access to it. Dumbledore shouldn't even be there at this hour. He should be in his quarters, wherever they were, sleeping.

Somehow, Hermione knew he wasn't. He couldn't be. She'd finally made up her mind what she needed to do, and she needed his help. He had to be here.

As though her thoughts had suddenly been made real, the stone gargoyle began to move. She climbed quickly onto the spiral staircase and it took her upward.

Professor Dumbledore awaited her at the door, dressed as though it was the middle of the afternoon. She resisted the urge to ask him why he was there at this hour, afraid it would break the spell.

"Do you require my assistance with something, Miss Granger?" he asked her, his mild voice containing a hint of its usual rasp.

She found herself, in one singular panicked moment, completely at a loss for words. It had all seemed so clear back in her dormitory. She struggled to recall her exact line of reasoning, embarrassed to find herself at a loss in front of her headmaster.

"I need your help. I want to help Harry," she said, opting to begin with the basics. "There's too much to be done and too little time."

A look of understanding came over Dumbledore's face.

"You would like me to return the Time-Turner to you."

"I can find the answer. I just need more time. It can't be done between schoolwork and classes."

"As Professor McGonagall warned you in your third year, I must remind you of the danger you court by trifling with time. It is a heavy burden you seek, Miss Granger, which you well know. You have borne it before."

"I'm three years older now, Professor Dumbledore, and Harry's situation is much worse. It might be difficult, but I don't believe there is another choice."

"There are always choices, Miss Granger," he told her. "Whether they are good or bad is not always clear. The responsibility you seek would be considerable."

"I understand, Professor," she told him, and the look in his eyes seemed to ask her to go on. She wondered what he needed to hear.

"I know I am your headmaster, Miss Granger, but I would like you to tell me what's on your mind, even if you believe it is an inappropriate thing to say."

"I'll continue whether you help me or not," Hermione said, before she lost her nerve. "I'll give up sleep, anything else that gets in my way. The Time-Turner would just make things easier to manage."

Without a word, Dumbledore waved his wand and a drawer at the top of one of the cabinets lining his wall opened. A box levitated out of it and Hermione recognized it immediately. She'd stood in Professor McGonagall's office three years ago and watched her open it with open-mouthed wonder as she explained its workings to her.

Instead of handing her the box, however, he shuffled to another section of the cabinets, this time opening a lower drawer. He removed a squat, stone basin, and he handed it to her along with the Time-Turner. It was heavy in her arms and filled with a clear, shimmering substance.

"I will give you the Time-Turner, but only if you agree to take this as well. It is called a Pensieve, and it will assist you with organizing your thoughts. When your mind becomes clouded, you can remove some of your thoughts and store them here. There are two benefits. You will clear your mind, but the Pensieve can also help you find patterns and links in the thoughts you choose to store there. I see that I have already emptied it. You should find it ready for you when you desire to use it," he told her, smiling mildly at her.

He showed her how to extract a thought from her head with her wand and add it to the Pensieve, and she goggled at the silvery light of her Professor's memory as it sparkled at her from the basin. He returned it to his head with a quick flick of his wand.

"How exactly should I use it, Professor?"

"Use it, and the Time-Turner, as you feel you have a need for them."

Hermione felt her mouth set, knowing now that her instincts had been correct. It was her place to find the answer. Dumbledore had just told her as much.

"As before, do be careful not to run into the earlier version of yourself when you are repeating hours. The consequences could be dire."

"I was thinking about that, Professor. If I never return to a time when I didn't know about the Time-Turner, would I really be driven mad at the sight of a second version of myself?" She felt strange, arguing the point to Dumbledore, but avoiding herself had been extremely troublesome when she last used the Time-Turner.

Dumbledore chuckled, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as he did.

"I suppose you do possess a strong enough sense of logic to maintain your sanity in that case. It is your responsibility to ensure no one else sees two of you at the same time, however."

"I understand."

"You may keep these things as long as you require them. I hope you do not find that period of time is longer than you wish to have them." Dumbledore ushered her to the door, opening it for her so she could squeeze through with the Pensieve cradled in her arms.

The door shut behind her as she tried to find the meaning in her headmaster's final words. Her feet carried her to Gryffindor tower as she thought, her arms beginning to shake from the burden she was carrying.

She continued her musings as she finally reached her bed, sliding Dumbledore's Pensieve underneath and slipping the Time-Turner's necklace over her head. With her direction clear, she gratefully found sleep returning to her.


	2. Chapter 1: The Unfinished Letter

**Chapter 1: The Unfinished Letter**

Hermione found herself bolt awake in the middle of the night, breathing hard, her heart beating fast. She wasn't sure where she was at first, until her eyes cleared and she could see she was in her bedroom at home.

_Summer_, she thought. _It must be summer._

She felt the weight of the Time-Turner around her neck, and she wasn't sure if she was using it or not. Was this the past, or the present? She didn't know. Over the summer, she'd tried to keep track of how many hours she was reliving, but she'd recently lost track. She slept only when she was truly exhausted, when her need to rest finally drowned out the thoughts whirling in her mind.

She suspected she was in the past, and a glance at the Time-Turner confirmed it. She searched her memory and finally remembered there was another Hermione downstairs, going over lists she'd made of ideas, things to check, theories to test.

When she noticed what time it was, she realized her father would find her downstairs in a few minutes and ask her why she was up in the middle of the night.

"There's something I'm working on," she'd told her father. "It's a project for school," she lied. "I'm finding it quite difficult. I'm not sure I'll be able to find the answer in time."

"Don't be silly, Hermione," her father had told her. "What have we always told you? There's nothing out of your grasp if you're willing to work for it."

He'd patted her shoulder with a look of pride in his eyes.

"You're right. Thank you for reminding me," she'd told him, suppressing a yawn.

She double-checked that her alarm was set to wake her up in time to get back downstairs and close the Time-Turner's loop, and laid her head back against her pillow. She closed her exhausted eyes, but was annoyed that thoughts were still racing through her head.

She flashed onto the dream she'd forced herself awake from. It was a terrible dream, really—one that recurred with such frequency that she wished it would just go away. She knew she wasn't getting enough sleep as it was, and having a nightmare strong enough to force her awake certainly wasn't helping matters.

In the dream, she could hear Ron and Harry screaming for her help. She ran from place to place, but their voices got fainter and fainter until they finally died away entirely. She simply couldn't find them, and she became lost herself as she tried. She always awoke from that dream with their names on her lips, feverish and trembling.

The Pensieve cast its glow on the walls as it sat on her desk and she found herself drawn to it. Silvery bands spun through the substance within it, each one representing a bit of research or a new theory. She considered adding her dream to it just to get it out of her mind, but she decided against it. Dumbledore had given her the Pensieve only to aid in her research, and she wanted to stick to that.

Her eyes strayed to a roll of blank parchment and her quill. She'd intended to use that parchment to start a new list the next morning, but her tired mind couldn't even recall what the list was supposed to be about.

She sat and picked up her quill, dipping it into the inkwell. The tip quivered just above the parchment as she unrolled it. She didn't know what she was going to write until the quill began to move.

_Dear Ron,_ she wrote, and then stared at the two words until the ink seemed to swim before her eyes. There were so many things she wanted to tell him, but she couldn't risk putting any of them to paper. As always, they were cautioned to assume their correspondence could be intercepted. Their letters so far were limited to nattering about mundane things. Ron's last letter to her had been a long diatribe about having to de-gnome the garden on his own. It had been meaningless, but getting any letter from him was better than nothing.

She wanted to tell him how very tired she was, how difficult it was even to hold the end of her quill above the parchment. She didn't dare write that, however, as it would rehash an argument she was happy to leave behind them. At the end of term last year, she couldn't so much as yawn without Ron asking her about it. His incessant questioning about her near-constant fatigue could be matched only by his determination, back in their fourth year, to find out who had asked her to the Yule Ball.

She'd used a different excuse each time, all of them insufficient, according to Ron. Keeping the secret had turned into quite a project, but she was determined. She couldn't tell either of them. She didn't want to tell Harry because he had enough of a burden dealing with his visions. And as for telling Ron...she'd told herself it wasn't right to tell Ron something Harry didn't know.

If she was being honest, she had to admit that wasn't the truth. She avoided telling Ron because she knew he would argue with her, taking issue with the hours she worked or the methods she used. He was relentless, forcing her to work rather diligently to keep the truth from him.

Not that her plan had worked. No matter how hard she tried, Ron seemed to know that she was hiding something.

* * *

_The previous April_

Hermione jumped as the portrait hole slammed shut, the book in her lap falling to the floor as she stood up in alarm. She heard the Fat Lady telling off the person responsible for jarring her, and Hermione saw a flash of red hair and knew she had to prepare another excuse.

"Hermione, where have you been?" Ron demanded, looking quickly around the common room to make sure they were alone.

"I've been right here, Ron. What are you talking about?" Hermione said, defensively.

"You weren't here earlier," he accused.

"Not that it's any of your business, Ron, but I spent the morning in the library. I'll be in History of Magic to take the notes you crib from, so there's no reason to worry," she told him with a great deal of annoyance.

"When is the last time you had something to eat?" Ron asked her.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron. You know I was at dinner last night."

Ron barked out a laugh. "Apparently, I know more about where you've been than you do. You were never in the Great Hall last night. I know. I was there waiting for you."

"I certainly was—" Hermione began, but she stopped herself when she couldn't actually remember if she'd ever had dinner the night before. "Why were you waiting for me?"

Ron seemed ready to answer her at first, but he clamped his mouth shut and she watched his jaw tense.

"You're losing weight, Hermione. You're tired all the time, and you won't tell me why. Professor McGonagall asked you a question in class yesterday and you didn't know the answer. You're not being you, Hermione."

"Well, I'm quite sorry if I'm not living up to your standard of who I'm supposed to be," she said, her temper flaring easily in her fatigue. "I happen to have a very demanding course schedule. I intend to get as many NEWTs as possible, Ronald Weasley, and that work has to begin now."

"Hermione! NEWTs are over a year away! Surely even you aren't revising for them yet," Ron roared, scaring a couple of first years who had returned early from breakfast.

"Perhaps if you took these things a bit more seriously, you'd understand."

Ron moved toward her, dropping his voice a little.

"Don't you care about what's happening to Harry? I'm barely able to get him up in the morning. He's sleepwalking through his classes. I know you're writing half of his essays, but don't you care enough to actually talk to him?"

"Of course I do. I talk to Harry," she insisted, although she couldn't remember the last time she'd had a direct conversation with him.

"Well, then. It must be my mistake. Since I'm usually wrong, I suppose I should be used to it. So, just to make sure I have it straight now, you're behaving perfectly normally. You and Harry are just as close as you used to be, and you're both being utterly normal. _I'm_ the nutter. Is that about right?"

"Ron," she began, and put her hand on his arm. She gasped as he pulled it away.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, and Hermione finally tore her eyes away from the arm he'd pulled out of her grasp to stare at him. "I didn't mean to do that." His anger of a moment ago had vanished. His face told a different story now, with his open concern for her playing out over his features.

"It's fine," she told him. "Perhaps I have gone a bit overboard. I'll stop."

* * *

Hermione sighed and looked back at the parchment on her desk. She hadn't stopped after that, merely tried hide it more effectively. Ron knew she was still hiding something, of course. She could see it his eyes, in those moments when she wasn't acting like herself. He'd never mentioned it again, but he seemed so sad that it made her heart break to look at him.

She wasn't sure why he refused to mention it. Perhaps she'd pushed him away so many times that things between them had changed. They didn't row at all after that, something she'd wished for many times. Her father had often told her to be careful what she wished for, and she finally understood what that meant.

She glanced at the Pensieve, watching as her thoughts, her research, swirled within it. It was all for Harry. She was doing it to keep them all safe. It was worth it. It had to be. Her friendship with Ron and Harry was strong enough to withstand a rough patch. She'd find the answer soon, and everything could go back to normal.

She decided to finish her letter to Ron tomorrow. She couldn't send it until he sent his next letter with Pig, so there was really no rush. She began to move back to her bed, and her dream of searching for Ron and Harry came back to her. She'd never be able to sleep with those images in her mind.

She looked guiltily at the Pensieve. She hadn't intended to use it for personal thoughts.

_If I can't sleep, I can't work, can I?_

Before she could change her mind, she extracted the memory of her dream and added it to the basin.

As she pulled the sheet over herself, she knew she'd been afraid of something. It now floated beneath the surface of the Pensieve, out of her mind and leaving her able to sleep.


	3. Chapter 2: The Dream

**Chapter 2: The Dream**

_Hermione shuffled down the stairs to her parents' sitting room, yawning and feeling wonderfully refreshed._

_"Good morning, Hermione," Ron greeted her, setting aside his Chudley Cannons book and smiling at her. "I'm glad you had a bit of a lie-in. I saved some breakfast for you."_

_Just for a moment, she wondered why he was here. He'd never been here before, not that she could recall. It seemed quite odd. He looked horribly out of place among her parents' pristine sitting room suite. His feet were up on the lounge, shoes on, and she knew her mother would be livid if she saw it. His blazing red hair and lurid orange jumper stood out starkly from the off-white fabric surrounding him._

___She started to ask him what he was doing there, but the words died in her mouth. Of course he was there. It all made sense._

He held out a piece of toast for her. He'd wrapped it in a napkin, but crumbs fell from it as he handed it to her. She watched them collect on the carpet near her feet. She had a feeling she should be worried about them, but they seemed to belong the same way Ron did.

_She took a bite, feeling the sweetness of the jam as it touched her tongue. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste as though she hadn't eaten in days. Her eyes fluttered open as she felt Ron's lips press against hers._

_They were suddenly sitting next to each other on the lounge. The toast was gone and her hands were resting lightly on Ron's shoulders. Ron was holding her face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs gently against her cheeks. He kissed her again and it was unbelievable._

_Ron moaned her name as his hands drifted downward, caressing her neck and shoulders as he deepened the kiss. The world turned on its side as she allowed his tongue into her mouth. She felt as though she was falling, slowly at first, but then faster. Her stomach clenched, and panic overcame her. It didn't just feel as though she was falling; she _was_ falling._

_She tumbled to the ground, a puff of air escaping her lips as she felt the impact. She opened her eyes to see if Ron was all right, and found she was in the common room in Gryffindor tower._

_This wasn't right, was it? Weren't they in her house a moment ago?_

_"Do you see what I'm talking about, Hermione? You're so tired and weak that you're falling down."_

_Ron's voice was hard, infused with a primitive sort of anger she hadn't heard there since they were much younger._

_"Well, certainly don't help me up," she said sarcastically, matching his fire with her own as she struggled to her feet. "I'm doing this for you and Harry, can't you see that? Why do you need me to tell you everything?"_

_They argued, sending venom-filled words at each other with a fervor only they could bring out in each other. Everything seemed to speed up as she felt her frustration welling into the pit of her stomach. She shut her eyes, throwing her head back as she tried to control her anger._

_His lips slid against hers and she opened her eyes in surprise. She saw her mother's painting on the far wall over Ron's shoulder as his lips moved to her cheek, then to her ear, and then lower. He nestled beneath her chin and she leaned into him as he kissed the nape of her neck._

_They'd been in the common room a moment ago, hadn't they? Or had they been here all the while?_

_Oh, but Ron was amazing. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned back into the soft, overstuffed pillows on the lounge. He moved over her, putting just a bit of his weight onto her stomach, and she moaned at the feel of him._

_"Am I hurting you?" he whispered against her neck, kissing her again when he was done._

_"No. It's wonderful," she told him, burying her hands in his hair and holding him to her._

_"I miss you, Hermione," he told her, lifting his head to look into her eyes._

_"What?" she asked. What did he mean? They were here, together. How could he miss her? His lips returned to hers and she felt connected to him in a way she'd never even considered possible before. When he broke away, she moaned at the loss, squeezing her eyes shut and wishing with all her heart that he would begin again._

_"I miss you. Harry does too. But I miss you more."_

A blaring, high-pitched sound blasted her awake and her hand found and turned off the alarm before she even opened her eyes. She didn't want to open them. When she did, she would be alone. There would be no Ron to argue with her or kiss her.

She sat up, the details of her dream rushing back to her in one overwhelming shock of images.

Ron. Kissing her. She'd dreamt of Ron kissing her. Her cheeks grew hot as she remembered exactly how thoroughly she'd imagined him kissing her. Of course, she'd also dreamt of Ron rowing with her, but that was hardly a revelation.

Her hand flew to her lips, although she knew they hadn't really been kissed. Ron's body hadn't pressed her into the pillows on the lounge downstairs. He hadn't whispered against her skin, caressed her cheeks, or moaned her name until it burned in her ears.

"Oh, no. The lounge," she whispered to herself, realizing why her alarm had just sounded. She checked the Time-Turner with trembling fingers, and found she didn't have much time to close the loop.

She leapt from the bed, opened her door as quietly as possible, and rushed downstairs. She felt a familiar swirling sensation as the time around her settled itself again, and she re-integrated with the past Hermione.

She sat on the lounge, feeling a bit shaky, and picked up the sheaf of parchment she'd been working on. She'd intended to spend the next few hours working, waiting for her parents to wake up and take her on the day trip they'd planned. Hermione tried to remember where they were going. They'd told her about it, and it had seemed quite interesting at the time.

She truly did want to spend more time with her parents, but she had a feeling her time with them this summer was coming to an end. She wasn't sure how safe her parents were with her around. They would all be better off if she went to Grimmauld Place or the Burrow.

The Burrow. With Ron. The boy she now dreamt about.

"No," she said aloud. It was just one dream. She tried to push it away, but she missed him terribly, in a way she didn't miss Harry.

"Ridiculous," she said, talking to herself again. Harry and Ron are different people. Of course she would feel differently about each of them.

_That's not it_, she told herself. _You know that isn't the reason. That isn't why you stared daggers at him during the Quidditch World Cup when he drooled over the Veela. Oh, but those feelings are older than that, aren't they? You didn't mind going to Hogsmeade alone with Ron before Sirius signed Harry's permission form, and never mind the night you yelled at him that he should have asked you to the Yule Ball before someone else did._

She sighed heavily and noticed how heavy her eyelids felt. She wasn't sure how long she'd slept, and she had a feeling that all this thinking about Ron was just because she was tired and out of sorts. A bit more sleep would cure everything.

She settled back against the pillows, taking in a quick breath as she flashed onto an image of Ron hovering over her as they kissed. That dream—she had to put it out of her mind. She forced herself to think of something else, making a list in her mind of everything she could remember from the last book she'd gone over.

Blocking spells. Nothing there she didn't already know, and certainly nothing that would be strong enough to block an Unforgivable Curse. The next chapter covered confusion spells, but she doubted that a wizard with Voldemort's power would be susceptible to those.

She tried to remember what was in the following chapter, but it was as though she'd stopped reading there. She couldn't recall a single thing after the confusion spells. Had she read it? She was sure she had, but if that was true, why didn't she know what it covered?

She'd nearly talked herself into going upstairs and digging the book out of the stack on her desk, but her arms and legs were so heavy against the cushions of the lounge that she couldn't imagine getting up. She yawned and her eyes, dry and irritated, began to sting. She shut them, just for a moment, to rest them from the morning sun filtering in through the sheer curtains at the far side of the room.

_Ron walked toward her, grinning in that way that only he could, as though every inch of him was happy and fully satisfied with life. She marveled at how he felt things so openly. No matter what, his anger, humor, fear, or boredom was always transparent to her._

_"Hermione," he whispered, holding out his hand to her. She was drawn to him, and they were in each other's arms before she could remember crossing the distance between them. His large hands cradled the back of her head, his fingers threading into her hair as their lips crashed together._

_They were urgent, moving against each other with a desperation she'd never felt before. It was an exotic, brand-new feeling to her, but even in their haste to pull each other closer, deeper, there was a gentleness underlying it all. She could feel the reverence in him through the passion, making her pleasantly dizzy as everything in her world narrowed down to the feel of him against her._

_She explored him with her hands, learning the lean expanse of his back before she ran her palms up his chest, cursing the way his shirt fought against her._

_"Sweetheart," he broke away from her to whisper, and she frowned a little, trying to find his lips again. She hadn't expected terms of endearment from him. It didn't seem like something he would say._

_"Sweetheart," he repeated, pulling oddly on her shoulder. Strange, the way his voice sounded. Higher pitched than normal. It almost didn't sound like him at all. She tried to kiss him again, but he was pulling back. She wanted to bring him toward her again, but her hands found only air where he had been._

She opened her eyes to find her mother shaking her awake, smiling down at her.

"Wake up, sweetheart. You need to get up now if we're to make our trip into the city to see that exhibit at the National Gallery your father told us about. Don't you remember?"

Hermione blinked a few times, trying to come to terms with the difference between her dreams and her reality. The last dream had been so real she was still breathless from those imagined kisses.

"Hermione, you're terribly flushed. Are you feeling ill?"

"No," she answered quickly. "I was looking forward to our trip and I couldn't sleep. I came down here to read and I suppose I dozed off. I'm just a little disoriented."

"Well, if you're still tired, you can sleep in the car on the way into London. Why don't you splash some water on your face and get dressed? I'll have breakfast by then."

"Thanks," Hermione told her, pulling herself to her feet. She started toward the stairs, wanting to take them on a run the way she usually did at Hogwarts, but she knew her parents preferred her to climb them at a more normal pace. She wanted to get to the Pensieve as soon as possible.

She walked over to the Pensieve and took out her wand, rationalizing the removal of the dreams from her memory as a necessary step to preserve her work to help Harry. She concentrated for a moment, focusing on her most recent dream and nearly losing herself within it before she summoned the resolve to pull it from her mind with her wand. The first dream followed it, creating a large, brilliant streak of silver inside the basin.

She turned to leave, remembering that she'd dreamt of Ron but with no recollection of the content of the dream. She felt irrationally angry with him, that he would invade her sleep and cause her so much trouble that she felt the need to remove those memories entirely.

It wasn't his fault, of course, but that did nothing to stem her irritation.


	4. Chapter 3 The Goodbye

**Chapter 3: The Goodbye**

Several days later, Hermione sat at her desk in her room, reading a book she'd borrowed from the Hogwarts library near the end of term. A permission slip from Dumbledore had allowed her to bring home a fair number of books from the Defense Section and several from the Restricted Section. She'd shared a look with Madam Pince that day that only two people who loved books as much as they did would understand. The librarian's expression told Hermione the ramifications of losing or harming one of the books, and Hermione's had made clear how seriously she took that responsibility.

This book, covering ancient potions, was like nothing Hermione had ever read before. The exotic, sometimes frightening ingredients fascinated her, and just knowing that some of these dangerous-sounding potions had ever existed put a shiver down Hermione's spine.

She turned the page and her eyes found 'Four drops of blood from a blue-eyed infant' as a main ingredient of a rather frightening power-enhancing potion, causing an involuntary reaction in her stomach. She'd been feeling ill for days, enough that her parents had begun to dote on her. She was supposed to be resting now, in fact, but Hermione knew the only cure for her condition was finding the Answer, the bit of information that might save them all.

Hermione's guilty eyes found the Pensieve, watching as the many streaks of gray wound their way around each other. It was hypnotic to watch as they intertwined, dancing together in the shimmering substance inside the basin. They were part of her, exiled only when they got in the way. She felt less and less like herself every day, making her wonder before she could push the thought away exactly how much of her was gone.

She knew her dreams were gone—nearly every dream she'd recalled upon waking. All she could remember now was that she'd found them distracting enough to sacrifice them into the basin for the sake of her research.

_They were about Ron_, she suddenly thought, and didn't know how she could remember that. She bit her lip with indecision, suddenly wanting them back regardless of the consequences.

She plunged her hands into the Pensieve before she could stop herself, feeling how the forgotten memories were there with her, just under the surface, until she chose to pull one forward. She drifted toward one at random, gasping as the scene coalesced around her.

Her memory of the dream consisted only of an image of Ron walking toward her, wearing nothing but a pair of threadbare track suit bottoms she'd once seen him in at the Burrow after an afternoon of pick-up Quidditch with Harry. In her dream, that one visible item of clothing had been low-slung on his hips, and Dream Ron smiled as he noticed her staring at him.

Hermione couldn't recall seeing Ron without his shirt on after puberty had changed him and she had no way of knowing whether her dream image of him was realistic or not. She'd put all of this in the Pensieve several days ago, after she'd spent nearly a half hour staring at the same page of her book, wondering exactly how correct her imagination was.

She let go of that memory and drifted to another, finding an image of Ron kissing her, drinking deeply from her mouth. Her head filled with the sounds of both of them moaning as their bodies pressed together, and Hermione blushed and looked away from it.

She pulled away from the Pensieve as though it burned her. She felt herself swirling upward, finding herself in her bedroom again with a flush on her cheeks and her breaths coming in ragged spurts. She had to sit down for a moment, feeling suddenly awful about the dreams she'd rediscovered.

She'd let Viktor kiss her once, but she'd never responded to him this way. Ron had barely ever touched her of his own accord, yet she couldn't stop thinking about him the moment her eyes closed at night. Surely this meant there was something wrong with her—another in a long list of failings like 'know-it-all', 'bossy', and 'quick to anger.'

She took a deep breath, feeling utterly lost. This was not the sort of thing you could fix with one of Madam Pomfrey's potions. She was thick in the center of the biggest problem she'd ever created for herself, and she cursed how selfish she was acting. Imagine, conjuring a dilemma like this just when she was faced with the most dire responsibility she'd ever accepted.

She had to do something. She had to clear her mind, and she knew of only one way she could refocus her energy. She had to be brutal with herself. She had no room in her mind for stray thoughts. Anything that threatened distraction would go into the Pensieve.

She looked down at her desk to find her wand and saw the letter to Ron she'd started instead. It seemed like something different to her now than just a letter; it was one last opportunity to connect with him before her thoughts about him were gone. She bit back tears, telling herself not to be such a ninny. She'd restore the memories someday, after they were all safe and there wasn't so much at stake.

_It's not a farewell_, she told herself. _It's just goodbye for a bit_.

She took her quill firmly between her fingers and dipped it into her inkwell.

_What on earth can I write to him, knowing what I know?_

Her eyes glazed over as she tried to think of something, deciding to write it first in her mind and then translate it to something appropriate to put to parchment.

_I'm sorry I seemed so distant last year_, she thought. _I know you probably think I don't care about you anymore, but the reality is that I can't stop thinking about you. You're there every time I close my eyes, giving me that look that makes me wonder what's going on in your head._

Her fingers worried the feather end of her quill until she placed the tip against the parchment and began to write.

_I hope your summer is going well_, she wrote. _Have you had a chance to start your summer reading? I have been quite busy here, taking trips with my parents and seeing the most interesting things. Our recent trip to the National Gallery was quite educational, really._

She looked up again, wondering how she could continue.

_I'm so scared, Ron_, she thought._ I feel as though I'm drowning in the responsibility I accepted. I don't see any way out. I have to do this, but I lose a little bit of myself each day. I know it's out there—the Answer—but I'm not sure how much of me will be left to celebrate it._

She returned to the parchment, her eyes stinging a bit as she tried to complete the letter.

_You'll be happy to hear that I'm making wonderful progress on our school assignments, although several of them are harder than I'd imagined._

_With that in mind, you'll have to forgive me if my correspondence slows down after this. I'd really like to concentrate and I may not find the time to write. It's not because I don't want to, just remember that. I'll see you on the train!_

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

She rolled the parchment before she could stop herself, tying a bit of string around it and writing Ron's name on the outside. She put it to the side on her desk, ready for the next owl that arrived for her.

She stood and looked at the Pensieve, taking her wand into her hand and striding forward. She extracted thought after thought from her mind as the tears she'd tried to hold back finally rolled down her cheeks. When she'd removed everything she could, she took back some of the thoughts related to her research, hoping it would help to fill the emptiness she suddenly felt.

When she was finished, she threw herself on the bed and cried in earnest, though she couldn't really remember why.


	5. Chapter 4: Arrival at the Burrow

**Chapter 4: Arrival at the Burrow**

"Mum, you don't have to drive me to the Burrow," Hermione said, feeling a bit guilty. "I'm sure Mr. Weasley can arrange for some sort of magical transportation. It's so far out of the way."

"Don't be silly, Hermione. We've already arranged our flight from the Exeter Airport." She smoothed her hand over Hermione's hair, smiling at her. "You're sure you don't mind spending the rest of the summer with the Weasleys? One of us could stay back from the conference if you—"

"No, no. It's fine. There are only two weeks until the beginning of term, after all. Hopefully I won't be too much of a bother."

"Oh, nonsense. Mrs. Weasley seemed delighted at the idea in her last letter. Now, with that settled, we need to start packing the car. The drive should take nearly three hours, so we need to leave soon if your father and I are to catch our flight. Have you finished packing your things?"

"Yes. I'm all set," she told her mother, although she didn't feel ready in the least. She wasn't prepared to face Ron, and she certainly didn't feel equal to the task of hiding her secrets from Ginny. Sharing a room with her inquisitive friend would certainly prove to be quite a challenge, but it probably wouldn't be as difficult as having to lie to Ron.

"I've got your trunk," her father said in a strained voice, barely making it down the stairs with it. "What do you have in here, Hermione? Bricks?" he teased her. She spared him a smile, though it made her feel tired to do it.

"Just a few bricks. The rest are books, I expect," her mother answered for her, and gave Hermione a wink.

"There's still Crookshanks, and a bundle on your bed, Princess," her father said. "Can you manage both and meet us at the car?"

"Of course," Hermione said, starting toward the stairs. "I'll be right there."

She retrieved the Crookshanks and the Pensieve, which she'd wrapped in a spare set of robes, and hurried down to the car. Her father was loading his own suitcase into the car when she got there, and he took the package from her arms and set it next to her trunk before shutting the boot.

"There we are. Packed tight. Next stop, Ottery St. Catchpole," her father said, but then his expression sobered a bit. "We will miss you terribly, you know," he told her, a bit of a twinkle in his eye.

"I'll miss you too," she told him, wondering if she'd ever be with her parents again without the constant fear in the back of her mind of attracting a Death Eater attack. They should be safe as houses at the dentistry convention, for which Hermione was very grateful.

They were soon on the road, the gentle sounds of Beethoven issuing from the radio. Her father hummed along tunelessly as her mother started the book she'd brought along for the trip. The car bounced a bit as they sped down the road, and Hermione fell quickly asleep.

* * *

The sound of the car door opening woke her and she sat up, blinking at the sudden brightness around her. She heard Mrs. Weasley talking to her parents and she smiled a little to herself as she rushed to get out of the car. Mrs. Weasley was a wonderful person, but she could be a bit overwhelming if you weren't used to her.

"Ah, there you are, dear. I hope you're hungry. Lunch is nearly ready," Mrs. Weasley told her, just as Hermione saw Ron and Ginny emerging from the front entrance to the Burrow. They both beamed at her, but Hermione found it was easier to smile back if she concentrated on Ginny. The confusion Ron brought forth in her had been difficult to manage from afar, but it was even worse when he was just meters away.

"I am a bit peckish," Hermione answered. "I really hope I won't be a bother," she added.

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione," Ginny said. "Mum's over the moon to have another warm body in the house to dote over." She smirked at her mother, who merely smiled back. "And perhaps Ron will finally shut—"

"Don't just stand there, Ron," Mrs. Weasley interrupted. "Get Hermione's trunk and take it up to your sister's room," Mrs. Weasley commanded, and Ron had to interrupt his glaring at Ginny to respond.

"Oh! All right. I've got—" Ron began.

"No, no. It's fine. It's my trunk. I should carry it," Hermione said quickly, trying to keep Ron from seeing the robe-wrapped package next to it in the boot. She hurried after him, but Ginny caught her arm.

"Oh, let him do it. I'm sure it makes him feel useful." Ginny pointed at Ron, who hefted the trunk out of the boot of the car and smiled at them through a hint of strain on his face. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief that he didn't seem to notice the package next to it.

"So, where's Crookshanks?" Ginny asked, and Hermione retrieved her cat's cage from the back seat of the car. Ginny cooed at him and Crookshanks purred loudly. "We'll just get you inside, then, won't we? You can chase gnomes later if you like, hmm?"

Ginny disappeared into the Burrow and Hermione took that opportunity to usher the Pensieve out of the car. Now that it was in her arms, she hoped it would look like a pile of robes she hadn't been able to fit into her trunk.

"Well then, dear. Is that all we need to bring inside?" Mrs. Weasley asked, just as Hermione was about to escape into the house.

"Yes, that's all," Hermione answered, trying to make the package in her arms appear lighter than it actually was.

"I hate to say it, Princess, but your mother and I really need to get to the airport if we're going to make our flight," her father said, and came forward to give her a rather awkward hug around the bundle in her arms.

"Yes, you're right," Hermione's mother said, looking worriedly at her watch. She gave Hermione a kiss on the cheek and another half-hug around the package, squeezing her shoulder before letting go. "We'll miss you," she whispered.

"I'll miss you too," Hermione said, feeling a bit teary-eyed.

"We'll take good care of her, I promise," Mrs. Weasley told them, and that seemed to be the final thing Hermione's parents needed to hear before they could make themselves leave.

Hermione stood and watched as her parents pulled away, letting a few tears fall down her cheeks as she watched the car get smaller and smaller before it finally went around the bend and out of sight.

"Come on, dear. Let's get you settled," Mrs. Weasley urged, putting a gentle hand on her back to guide her.

They walked together into the house and Hermione wondered how she could best handle the Pensieve. Ginny would be waiting upstairs for her, and Ron probably was there as well. How could she get it into Ginny's room without arousing suspicion?

_Right. Just don't let on that there's anything out of the ordinary. Set it down on Ginny's desk and you can move it under the bed later, when you're alone._

Hermione walked up the stairs just as Ron was coming down from his room at the top of the house. He smiled at her as he reached the landing, and she was forcibly reminded of the only dream image she'd kept of him, from the dream where he'd worn only his old pair of track suit bottoms. She wasn't sure why she'd chosen that image to keep, but she was determined not to let herself analyze it too much.

She felt a tapping on her arm and turned, realizing she'd been staring wordlessly at Ron for far too long to be passed off as innocent.

"Hermione, have you heard a word I said?" Ginny asked, and Hermione felt a rush of embarrassment. She, of course, hadn't even been aware that Ginny was standing next to her.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I must still be drowsy from the car trip," Hermione said, wincing inwardly to hear such a terrible excuse pass from her lips.

"I asked," Ginny said, with just a trace of amusement, "if you would like to come outside with Crookshanks and me. If you don't mind him running about in the backyard, that is."

"Oh, no, I don't mind. That would be lovely. Let me just set this down and I'll be right there."

She tried to ignore the full smirk that had grown on Ginny's face as she moved aside to let Hermione into her room.

"Come on then, Crookshanks," Ginny said, letting Hermione's ginger cat jump down from her arms, where he rubbed against Hermione's legs affectionately. "Let's go see the gnomes, shall we?"

Crookshanks was possibly the least helpful cat in the entire wizarding world, Hermione thought, as she watched the traitorous animal fail to follow Ginny down the stairs. Crookshanks gave Hermione a curious look, then turned his tail to her and padded into Ginny's room.

Ginny turned and laughed. "I suppose he's not in the mood, eh?" Ron laughed as well, but he was looking a little too carefully at her, as though he was evaluating her in some way.

"Let's stay here then, Hermione. We'll be eating lunch outside in a bit anyway. We can get you settled in."

"Ginny, don't you think you should let Hermione decide what she'd like to do?" Ron said, with a bit of annoyance.

"It's fine, Ron," Hermione told him. "I do need to put this down," she said, flinching as she realized she'd called attention to the very thing she was trying to hide from them. She was just too tired to handle two Weasleys effectively.

"Is it heavy? What have you—"

"It's just some robes and books and things that wouldn't fit into my trunk. I'm rather embarrassed about it, really. I don't like my things to appear so messy."

"Oh, Hermione, that's nothing. You should see my room," Ron said.

"I agree, Hermione. You should definitely see Ron's room," Ginny added, and gave Hermione the oddest look. Hermione turned quickly away and the Pensieve nearly slipped out of her arms as she shifted it.

_What's the matter with me? One mention of Ron's room and I'm a nervous wreck._

"Well, I didn't mean now. Lunch is in a few minutes, you know," Ron reminded them.

"Why don't you go ahead downstairs and help Mum. I'll help Hermione put her things away and we'll be right down," Ginny said, giving her a wink that she hoped would escape Ron's notice.

Ron looked a bit disappointed, but he quickly agreed and disappeared down the stairs. Ginny shut the door behind him and gave Hermione a look.

Not just a look, really. It was a look only an extremely observant and curious girl like Ginny could give you, the sort of thing that made you think she could eavesdrop on the thoughts in your head.

"What are you hiding, Hermione?" Ginny asked her, getting straight to the point.

"It's nothing. Just some extra assignments I took on near the end of last term."

"Hermione, I don't make it a habit to share my room with people who lie to me. If you don't want to tell me, just say so."

Hermione bit her lip. She could feel herself bowing under the pressure of the secret she was keeping, and something told her it would all be easier if she had someone she could talk to about it.

"You can't say anything. Not to anyone. Not Ron, not Harry. No one. No matter what."

Ginny's eyes widened. "Now you _have_ to tell me."

Hermione sighed and unwrapped the Pensieve, watching as a look of wonder passed over Ginny's face.

"You have to promise me one thing, Ginny, and you absolutely cannot take this lightly. You can't touch the substance inside the Pensieve. I'm using it to research something to help Harry, and you could jeopardize my work if you do." Hermione felt guilty lying to Ginny, but she had to keep her friend away from what was stored there.

"I—I won't. I promise," Ginny said, seriously.

Hermione took the Pensieve from the desk and slid it under Ginny's bed, feeling much more comfortable as soon as it was out of sight.

"So much for the mysterious bundle of robes," Ginny said, an entirely different tone in her voice now. "But that doesn't explain why you were so tongue-tied around my brother."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said, reflexively protecting herself with another lie.

"Oh, is that why you suddenly seem to have trouble talking to someone who's been your best friend since you were eleven?"

"I'm just tired from the trip, Ginny," Hermione said, forcing herself to smile mildly. "I'll be fine after lunch, and perhaps a short nap."

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden knock on Ginny's door, and Ginny snorted back a laugh.

"Come on, you two. Lunchtime!" Ron called from behind the door.

Ginny went to the door and opened it to reveal Ron, with a silly grin on his face.

"We'll be down in a tic. Thanks!" Ginny said brightly, but Ron frowned a little as he realized his little sister had quite effectively dismissed him. He turned and left them alone again, his shoulders a bit slumped.

"Well, I think we should—" Hermione began, but Ginny interrupted her.

"I know you're brilliant, Hermione, so surely Ron's mood hasn't escaped you. He was looking forward to you coming. _Really _looking forward to it."

"Of course he was. I'm glad to see him as well," Hermione protested.

"Something tells me he wouldn't react quite this way if you were Harry. Of course, we'd be happy to see him away from the Muggles, but Ron's been impossible to deal with this morning, waiting for you to get here."

Hermione wasn't sure what to say at all, but she found her voice and said the first thing that came to mind.

"Thanks, Ginny."

"You're welcome," Ginny told her, giving Hermione a reassuring smile. "I'm going downstairs. Come down when you're ready, but please, for my sake, don't make my brother wait too long."

Ginny turned and left, and Hermione took this moment alone to collect herself. Her head was still spinning from everything that had happened in the past ten minutes.

_I cannot believe Ginny could see through me so easily. Is it that obvious to everyone?_

She suddenly felt very exposed, especially as she wondered if Mrs. Weasley could see it as well.

_I have to gather myself. I can't spend two weeks stammering in front of Ron. If I act too strangely, he'll misinterpret me and assume something is wrong, or that I'm cross with him. We could start the term alienated from each other, and how could that possibly help Harry?_

She took a deep breath and started down the stairs, trying to remember how things were before the dreams came, and before she accepted the responsibility of the Pensieve and the Time-Turner.


	6. Chapter 5: A Partial Discovery

**Chapter 5: A Partial Discovery**

Once they had lunch and then finally coaxed Crookshanks into the overgrown grass in the field behind the Burrow, Hermione managed to settle into a rhythm with Ron that seemed almost natural. She even managed a rather icy retort when he teased her about bringing a book with her into the yard.

"Whose essay will you crib from in ten days or so, Ron, if I don't complete my summer reading?" she'd said, relishing the smirk he rewarded her with in return.

Things seemed nearly normal there for a bit. It was only when she began to think of the books upstairs in her trunk, the ones she intended to hide from Ron and Ginny, that she felt herself pulling away from them. It was as though she'd decided to allow herself one afternoon of a vacation from it all. She went on reading, looking up indulgently whenever one of them called out her name from their brooms.

Ron and Ginny were physically exhausted by dinnertime, by all appearances. They'd spent the afternoon swooping around, playing a rather odd form of one-on-one Quidditch, ending the afternoon with a solid hour of tossing gnomes out of the yard. There was only so much even the Weasley metabolism could take for one day, and they both seemed spent.

Ginny was asleep within minutes of putting out the lantern in her room, and Hermione found herself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, listening for the sounds of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley heading off to bed.

When she heard Mrs. Weasley crack open the door to Ginny's room to check on them, she quickly pretended to be asleep. Once she was gone, Hermione stole a look at her wristwatch, one of the last trappings of the Muggle world she couldn't quite bring herself to leave behind, and made a note of the time. With that knowledge, she finally allowed her eyes to close, to give herself a few hours of sleep before she got up to begin her work again.

* * *

Hermione's internal clock, possibly more accurate than any constructed timepiece, woke her near the time she'd decided to get up. It was quite early in the morning, about an hour before dawn, and Hermione pulled out the book she'd hidden under her pillow, got quietly out of bed, and grabbed a parchment and a quill and crept into the hallway.

Three hours should be about right—she was sure everyone would have been in bed by then. She up-ended the Time-Turner three times, watching its familiar spinning as she felt herself being pulled back into the past. When the world stopped spinning, she made her way downstairs, worrying over every creak of the old house as she went.

She'd decided earlier that here was absolutely no reason to risk discovery by a Weasley in the throes of a craving for a midnight snack, so ventured outside. It was still quite warm, even at this hour, and the breeze would help to keep her awake.

Hermione headed for the same tree where she'd spent much of the afternoon, leaning back against it and relishing the sweet smell of the grass before she decided to get to work.

Ron looked quite nice at dinner, she thought, her eyes slipping over word after word of her book without a single one penetrating to her brain.

_He was tired, and his eyelids had seemed heavy. The effect hadn't been entirely unattractive. Quite the opposite, really._

She shook her head, annoyed with herself for her lack of focus. She started the page over again, reading the words aloud in a whisper, hoping it would awaken her concentration.

_He did seem to look at me quite a bit, didn't he? Ginny kept kicking my leg under the table and drawing my attention to it. Ron didn't seem to notice, thank goodness._

She sighed again, realizing how difficult her work would be now that she was away from the quiet confines of her parents' house.

"How did you get out here?" she heard, and looked up to find Ron standing in the back doorway, his pajamas a bit rumpled.

She hesitated for a moment, wondering if this would be the moment she'd be found out.

"The door," she answered imperiously, trying to force him to leave it alone.

"You were asleep in your bed not two minutes ago, Hermione," he said, pulling out his wand and pointing it at her. "Are you really Hermione?"

"Of course I am, you great prat. Would you like me to prove it to you? Does anyone else know that Sirius used to contact Harry via Floo in our common room?"

Ron lowered his wand warily. "There's no way you got past me. I saw you in Ginny's room just before I came out here." He looked at her, his face a study in panic. "Hermione, if you're here, then who is in your bed?"

"I don't know what to tell you, Ron. I'm clearly here, aren't I? I believe I've proven...what were you doing in Ginny's room in the middle of the night?"

Ron looked shocked and dropped his confident, defensive posture, looking suddenly trapped.

"Well?" she demanded.

"I was...checking on Ginny. She's been having trouble sleeping," he said, slowly, as though each word was coming to him individually, unrelated to the others.

"She seemed to have an easy enough time of it while I was there. Out like a light as soon as her head hit the pillow, and still dead to the world when I slipped out."

"Bloody hell, Hermione. Fine. If you really want to know, I was checking on _you_. You haven't been yourself. Not for months, and you won't tell me a thing. I stood in that bloody doorway watching you sleep, trying to work out what's wrong. Are you happy now?" he asked, and she realized how worried he must be for her to admit all of this.

Hermione was dumbstruck, staring back at him as he stood, cutting an intimidating silhouette in the moonlight. "No," she whispered. "I'm not happy in the least." She wished she could cry, but she was far too tired to do it justice.

"Hermione," he whispered, coming to her. "I can't lose both you and Harry. Please tell me what's wrong."

"I..." she began, and realized she was nearly about to admit it all, spill it into the darkness as though there would be no consequences for doing so. "I can't."

Even through the shadows covering his face, she could see the set of his jaw. She could feel his frustration, and how close it was to turning to anger and resentment. He turned to leave, and she knew in that moment that if she let him go now she would be letting him go forever. Nothing would ever be the same between them, and she feared they wouldn't be the way things were meant to be.

"Wait," she began, unsure of what to say next. She had to keep him here. "You're right. I am upstairs sleeping. But I'm here as well."

"How?" he asked, and then he answered his own question. "You're using the Time-Turner again. Why? Hermione, it's the middle of the summer. Surely even you aren't that worried about NEWTs yet."

"I think...what I'm doing...is rediscovering why it should never be used in the first place," she said, telling him a fraction of her worst fears.

"You aren't well," he said, flatly. "You need to stop. I don't care why you're doing it. Nothing is this important."

"What if it could save Harry?" she asked. It was the one thing she could say that had the power to change his mind.

"He—" Ron began, pursing his lips in frustration. "He wouldn't want you to do this for him. Whatever it is."

"I chose this," she told him, staring him down. "I accepted the risks."

"Someone has to stop you from destroying yourself. If I could get that bloody necklace off of you, I'd shatter it into a million pieces," he said, spitting out his words with a vehemence she found breathtaking and oddly arousing. "Don't think I won't do it."

"You can't. It's not mine. It's Dumbledore's."

"Do you think I care how much trouble it gets me into? I'm losing you, Hermione. I can feel you slipping away and I know you can too." He moved toward her and grabbed her hands, pulling her to her feet. She could see how darkened his eyes had become as they bored into hers. "Tell me you don't care."

"I—I do care, Ron. It's just—I don't know. I realize this isn't an ideal situation, but sometimes there isn't a good choice and a bad choice. Sometimes there's only the choice you have to make." She cocked her head to the side and realized she finally knew what Dumbledore meant when he'd told her there were always choices, but 'whether they are good or bad is not always clear.'

"Promise me you'll stop, at least until after we can talk to Harry about this. There will be time, Hermione. Just please, stop."

"I—I don't know," she said, barely holding back tears of regret and exhaustion.

"Well, when you do, let me know," he told her, his voice full of the anger that had been brewing under the surface since the beginning of their confrontation. He dropped her hands and left her, standing alone under the moon and wondering how she had destroyed things so completely.


	7. Chapter 6: The Pond

**Chapter 6: The Pond**

In the days following, Ron spoke to her only when he found it absolutely necessary. He didn't seem angry exactly, which Hermione found quite troubling. She knew how to handle Ron's anger. What she didn't know what to make of was Ron's concern, or the sadness and frustration she found in his eyes whenever she managed to catch them with hers. He always looked as though he was a moment from begging her to stop again, but something stopped him from doing it.

Hermione was using the Time-Turner now in a way she could only describe to herself as reckless. She was barely avoiding being caught, but that was almost to be expected in such narrow confines as the Burrow. She had nearly missed closing the Time-Turner's loop several times, although she knew the consequences could be dire if she failed to do so.

She'd run into herself twice, proving her theory that she wouldn't be driven mad by it. She'd even taken the chance of speaking to herself the second time.

"You're ruining everything," her past self said, and Hermione looked away.

"We can't stop now. You know that. We'll find something if we can just put enough time into it."

"You're losing him, you know. You'll lose Harry too."

"It's worth it, if they survive."

"Is it?"

When the question was met only with silence, her past self continued the assault.

"Perhaps we shouldn't trifle with time. Didn't we learn that before? Look at us. We should have lost our minds, running into each other like this. Don't you think this is a bad sign?"

Hermione shifted in her chair as she recalled both memories of that conversation. They clashed terribly in her mind in a way that frightened her. Perhaps she _would_ be driven mad by it.

She crept up the stairs to Ginny's room and set down the book she'd been trying to read. She paced for a moment before she gave in and pulled the Pensieve from under Ginny's bed. She stared into it, wondering how much of her was there. The wisps of white swirled before her, creating beautiful patterns, and she nearly decided to draw them forward and take it all back.

She was about to plunge her hands into the basin when she heard someone coming. She hastily slid the Pensieve under the bed again, just as Ron appeared in the doorway. Hermione prepared herself for another of their silent exchanges, another battle of wills fought only in their eyes, but he opened his mouth to speak.

"I need to talk to you," Ron told her, his expression desperate and raw.

"Of course," she whispered, wondering how angry he was and if she could summon the strength to match him the way she used to.

"Two people can use that Time-Turner, can't they? You and Harry did."

"Yes, but—"

"Then take me with you, when you go back. You shouldn't have to do this alone. I know I'm not brilliant like you, but I can stay with you. I'll find some way to help."

She bit her lip. She knew he'd suggest it eventually, but she just couldn't bring herself to drag Ron into this as well.

"You don't want to do that."

"If it does to me what it's done to you, you're probably right. I'll do it, though," he said, resolutely. "Are you using it now?"

She gaped at him, unable to recall if this was now, then, or a dream. The only thing she could remember was that all her dreams were of Ron now, but their substance was gone, lost to the Pensieve until the day she decided she could accept them back.

"I can't answer you now. I—I need some time."

"Hermione, you have _too much_ time."

She grabbed the book she'd been trying to read, a book on ancient defense spells from the Restricted Section, and left Ron before she allowed herself to give in. She took a roll of parchment into her other hand and then rushed past him, looking back quickly to see him in open-mouthed shock at her rapid retreat.

"I'll be back," she whispered, just before she crossed the threshold to the hallway. She simply couldn't leave without offering him _some_ reassurance, though she knew it was inadequate.

She was down the stairs and out the front door of the Burrow before she knew where she was going. She jogged down the path that led toward the village, breaking into a full run despite the pressure in her chest that grew every moment she tried to hold back her tears.

She slowed down eventually, breathing hard and deep as she examined the Time-Turner with shaking hands. She _was_ in the past. Just under an hour behind, according to the depth of the sands within the miniature hourglass. It finally came back to her, and she remembered where her past self was. She'd hidden in the back of Mr. Weasley's shed full of treasures from the Muggle world, the one place she could go where Ron never seemed to look for her.

She bit her lip as she looked at the hourglass, wondering what would happen if she turned it again. Would it give her more time? Would it create a third version of herself?

She shuddered at the thought. Being split in two was driving her mad. A third division would certainly finish the job.

Hermione wandered down the lane, her mind wandering as she ignored the book nestled in her arms. She kicked at the rocks that littered the hard-packed dirt under her feet, watching the sand within the Time-Turner dwindle away.

She waited until the last moment to return to the Burrow, wondering if she'd finally cut things too close. She had to run again, stopping only when she neared the Burrow so she could sneak quietly to the shed. When the Time-Turner's sands ran out, the dizziness she usually felt was much worse than it had ever been before. She had to sit on the bench under the large willow tree just behind the house until she regained her balance.

"Ah, there you are, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, leaning through the doorway leading to the kitchen. "We've been looking everywhere for you. We're having a bit of an early dinner. Arthur has to—well, he has something he needs to do this evening."

Hermione knew this must mean Mr. Weasley had an assignment for the Order. Under Mrs. Weasley's cheerful exterior, she must be worried for his safety. She pushed aside her own preoccupations for a moment and tried to return Mrs. Weasley's air of optimism.

"That sounds lovely, Mrs. Weasley. Thanks again for letting me stay here with you."

"You know you're no trouble, Hermione." Mrs. Weasley paused for a moment, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Mrs. Weasley was having difficulty saying something, and that was a rare moment, indeed.

"Do you need help with anything? I'd be glad to help you set the table," Hermione said, desperately trying to steer the subject to something safe.

"Dear, is there something wrong? You've been perfectly polite, of course, but you seem a bit different. If you're worried about something, you should talk to someone about it," she said, and Hermione weakened a little at the notion of being able to divulge her secret to someone.

"I—" she began, longing to tell Mrs. Weasley what she'd given up for her research, to the detriment of her own will and sanity. She stopped herself only when she realized that Mrs. Weasley would never allow it to continue. Hermione would lose focus and probably miss the connection that was surely out there, waiting to be discovered. She couldn't take that chance.

"Yes?" Mrs. Weasley said, shutting the door softly behind her. She came toward Hermione with a look of open concern on her face. It was eerie, exactly how similar the worried look in the woman's eyes was to her youngest son's. "What is it?"

"I'm just worried for Harry," she said, inwardly shocked at how easily she could lie to someone who truly seemed to have her best interests at heart. "We hardly hear from him, and it's terrible to think about how he's stuck with his aunt and uncle. I'm just sure he's miserable, and I feel guilty to be here when Harry isn't."

"Oh, goodness. Is that all? Harry's fine, I can tell you that. There's always an Order member near him. As for those relatives of his, I can assure you that they were given another good talking to at the beginning of the summer. I know Harry's probably not enjoying himself very much, but you'll all be on the train soon enough."

Hermione forced herself to smile. "You're right, of course, Mrs. Weasley. I suppose I just miss him."

Mrs. Weasley leaned toward her. "Between the two of us, dear, I think Ron misses him horribly as well. I'm sure you've noticed the mood he's been in."

"Well," Hermione said, coughing a little to cover her surprised gasp, "I suppose I have noticed he's been a bit down as well."

"The two of you should help each other. That's what friendship's all about, dear."

Hermione tried to think of something to say in return, but it was Mrs. Weasley who ended the silence.

"Enough of that, then. I think I will take you up on your offer to set the table. Off we go, then," Mrs. Weasley announced, and pushed Hermione gently toward the door.

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley seemed to do the lion's share of keeping the dinnertime conversation going, occasionally asking one of them a direct question, only to get a rather more abbreviated answer than Hermione felt they were looking for.

"Ron told me you went to a Muggle art gallery a few weeks ago, Hermione," Mr. Weasley said, barely containing his excitement as he bent toward her to whisper conspiratorially. "He said their paintings _don't move_," he hissed, grinning widely at her.

"Erm, yes, that's right. They're completely static," Hermione confirmed. "Even the portraits. There's an entire wing of those at the moment. A special exhibition."

"A whole wing of portraits?" Mr. Weasley echoed. "And not a single one of them can move or talk? Extraordinary."

She felt a bit of her old sense of humor returning. "They're rather boring, really, once you've seen the magical ones," she said, knowing it would stoke the fire of Mr. Weasley's curiosity.

"Molly, surely we could spend an afternoon there sometime," he said to his wife, sounding oddly like a child asking for permission to go on a school field trip.

"Arthur, perhaps we could speak about this later. You only have a few minutes until you need to Floo to—" Mrs. Weasley said, stopping herself when she realized she was about to give away more than she'd intended to. "Well, until you need to leave."

"Ah, right you are, Molly," Mr. Weasley said, patting his mouth with his napkin.

"I think I'm done, Mum," Ron said, wiping his mouth as well. "May I be excused as well?"

Mrs. Weasley seemed taken aback at the sudden politeness of her youngest son, but she covered it quickly.

"Of course you may," she said, sharing a quick, surprised glance with her husband.

"Hermione, if you're not hungry anymore, perhaps we could take a walk before it gets too late," Ron said, and she hated him just a little for putting her on the spot this way.

"I did want to help your mother clear the table," Hermione said, giving the only excuse she could think of. She hadn't touched a single thing on her plate for over a quarter of an hour, and could hardly pass herself off as still hungry.

"Mum's already asked me to do it," Ginny interjected. "You set the table, Hermione. It's only fair."

"Well, in that case, I'd be happy to, Ron," she said, shooting Ginny what she hoped was a subtle version of her withering stare. She was even more annoyed when Ginny beamed back at her as though everything was going perfectly according to her plan.

Ron circled around the table to pull her chair out for her, and Hermione was a bit stunned as she got to her feet. He rushed past her to open the back door and hold it open for her, and her heart began to beat faster at the notion of Ron acting so utterly out of the ordinary.

They said nothing until they reached the pond, where they stood and watched the wind play over the water for a few minutes before Ron finally spoke.

"How many of you are there right now?"

"Just one," she answered, resisting the urge to double-check the Time-Turner just to be sure.

"Can you stay here with me for a bit? You don't have to talk. I just want to know you're here. Only here."

"All right," she told him, after taking a moment to debate it with herself. Ron seemed surprised to have won so easily.

"Would you like to sit?" he asked.

"The grass is a bit wet," she said, her heart fluttering a little as he slid his arms out of the button-down shirt he was wearing over his t-shirt and laid it on the grass.

"There you are. That should keep you dry."

"What about you?"

"Doesn't bother me. I just like it here."

Hermione knelt on his shirt, folding her legs to the side and leaning just a bit toward Ron, who had found a way to arrange his long legs near the edge of the pond.

He took her hand, scooting closer to her, and she felt alive for the first time in months. She nearly remembered something from one of her dreams, floating upstairs in that blasted stone basin. She tried to regulate her breathing as she told herself he was only concerned for her as a friend. Surely taking her hand didn't mean to him what it meant to her.

"Ron," she said, timidly, "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. I should apologize to you for losing my temper the other day. You said it was for Harry. That should have been enough explanation. I just wish I wasn't too useless to help you."

"You're not useless," she told him, feeling terrible that he would ever think that was true, and worse because she was the one who made him believe it.

"So you're saying I _can_ help you," he said, looking at her so intently that she had to look away. "Just tell me, Hermione. It's something to do with those books of yours, those rolls of parchment you never let out of your sight. Every time I see you, you're reading or scribbling something down. Am I just too thick to help you figure it out?"

"No!" she told him quickly. "It's—it's my job. Everyone tells me how bloody brilliant I am," she said, not caring anymore about swearing, propriety, or anything else that used to matter to her. "Everyone expects me to figure it all out. Harry, you, Dumbledore. I thought he might deny me the Time-Turner when I asked him for it. Part of me hoped he would, I think. When he didn't, I knew. This is what I'm meant to do."

"All right. If you're so smart, what is it that I'm meant to do? What's my role? Is it to sit by and watch you destroy yourself?" he asked, anger creeping back into his voice. His hand squeezed hers painfully and her fingers began to go numb. She tried to pull away, but he refused to release his grip. "Because that's the one thing I know I can't do."

"I don't know, Ron. I don't know anything anymore." She slumped tiredly, and she felt the pressure on her hand ease. He moved close enough to her that their shoulders and hips brushed together, and she took a chance and leaned on his shoulder.

He lifted his arm and she thought for a moment that he didn't want her there, but he quickly put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest. She rested there, listening to the way their breathing seemed to sync together in the silence.

"I'm just so tired, Ron."

"Promise me you won't use it. Not tonight. Just sleep, even if it's just one night."

"What if this is the night I—"

"You'll be just as brilliant tomorrow as you are today, Hermione. If I know you, you'll wake up smarter without even trying," he said, a wonderfully familiar teasing tone creeping into his voice. "Best thing you could do, really...waiting."

Hermione laughed a bit in spite of herself and fully relaxed against him.

"We should get back soon," she said, though it was the last thing she wanted to do.

"You're right," he said, his voice tinged with regret. The moment seemed heavy and Hermione wasn't sure how to handle things at all, until Ron made things easy in a way only he could. "Want me to carry you back?" he said, his old humor returned for the moment.

"That won't be necessary, thank you," she answered, with exaggerated prissiness.

She pulled away from him and caught his eyes for a long, dangerous moment until she forced herself to look away. Ron chose that moment to clear his throat and stand up, offering her his hand to help her to her feet. She took it, and handed his shirt back to him as they walked back to the Burrow.


	8. Chapter 7: Revelation

**Chapter 7: Revelation**

Hermione awakened several hours later, just as she suspected she might. She'd trained herself for months not to sleep through the night. It would be a long time before she could sleep for seven or eight uninterrupted hours.

The room was oddly quiet, and a glance at Ginny's bed explained it. The covers were a rumpled mess, and Ginny was missing.

Hermione padded quietly into the hallway and halfway down the stairs before she discovered where Ginny had gone. Ron and Ginny were sitting across from each other in front of the fireplace, speaking in hushed tones that Hermione could barely make out.

"What do you mean, splitting herself in two?" Ginny asked, looking perplexed.

"You know, with the Time-Turner," Ron said, and Hermione cursed inwardly. Ginny only knew about the Pensieve and Ron only knew about the Time-Turner, but they were about to share their information and come up with the complete truth between the two of them.

"With the what?"

"You told me you knew what Hermione was up to," Ron said, accusingly. "You don't, do you? Blimey, she'll kill me if she finds out I told you."

"I don't even know what the bloody thing is, Ron. I was talking about the—but you don't know about that, do you?"

"Don't know about what?" Ron asked, clearly taking his turn at being confused. "What is it, Ginny? You have to tell me. You've seen her. She can't take this for much longer. I had her back for a few moments tonight, Ginny, and then she pulled away again. I can't let that happen."

Ginny paused, and Hermione could feel her friend weighing the need to help against her promise to keep the secret. She knew, in one terrible moment before Ginny began to speak, that the promise had lost the fight.

"She's using something called a Pensieve. You add thoughts to it to help you clear your mind."

"Harry told me about it once. Dumbledore has one."

"Not anymore. He gave it to Hermione."

"So, whatever Hermione's working on, it's in that Pensieve," Ron said, thoughtfully.

"You can't do that," Ginny said, suddenly sounding a great deal like her mother.

"Can't do what?" Ron said, innocently.

"Look inside the Pensieve. You can't spy on her that way. Those are her private thoughts."

"But they're not. Not really. They're probably to do with her research. What if there's something I could help her with?"

"If you could help her, she would have asked you. Besides, this still doesn't explain why she's so exhausted all time," Ginny said, and Hermione was relieved that Ginny was able to steer the conversation away from her abandoned thoughts in the Pensieve.

"She's using a necklace that lets her turn back time. Haven't you wondered why she seems to be everywhere at once?"

Ginny gasped with realization. "There was one afternoon. She was in the kitchen, and I left to go to my room for a moment. When I came back, she was in the backyard, reading as though she'd been there all afternoon. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it did seem odd."

Hermione couldn't listen to them anymore. She made her way back to Ginny's room, telling herself it was to avoid being discovered eavesdropping.

_But you're lying to yourself, aren't you? You're leaving because you know you have to protect the Pensieve from Ron._

There was only one way to do that. She had to remove those thoughts from the basin and put them back in the only place where she could hide them from him.

She had to take them back.

She brought the Pensieve out and retrieved her wand from the desk before she sat on the floor of Ginny's room. She took a thought back at random, blushing a little as she realized it was a rather involved dream that utilized every bit of what she thought kissing a boy was like.

_What if he'd seen this? How could she ever face him again if he knew she thought about something like that?_

She took back dream after dream, thought after thought, and she nearly cried at how much more human she felt with every bit of herself she reclaimed from the Pensieve.

It shocked her, but it was suddenly much easier to accept the things she'd dreamed about doing with Ron. They still made her vaguely embarrassed and uncomfortable, but now that she'd nearly lost him, anything she remembered about him was comforting.

_Even if they are wildly inappropriate thoughts to have about someone who is your best friend._

Some of the thoughts were so simple she didn't know why she'd bothered to remove them. Visions of Ron smiling at her across the common room, memories of rows they'd had over schoolwork or the million other things she nagged him about. Even those small things made her feel more complete.

Hermione left just a few thoughts about the research she'd been doing in the Pensieve, but the basin seemed quite empty now by comparison. Her mind was so much clearer now that she could feel Ron's presence there again, and she found there was more than enough room for most of her conclusions and theories on how Harry could defeat Voldemort.

She hid the Pensieve again, and then slipped under the covers of the second bed in Ginny's room. She had to pretend to be asleep almost immediately, as Ginny chose that moment to return. Hermione could feel Ginny standing over her, watching her for a bit, before she got into her own bed and went back to sleep.

When Ginny's breathing became louder and more rhythmic, Hermione got up to go downstairs and see if Ron was still up.

"Go find him, Hermione," Ginny whispered, and Hermione realized Ginny had tricked her. "Let him back in, for Godric's sake. He's lost without you."

"He couldn't be as lost without me as I was without him," she answered, without turning around.

When she got downstairs, she found Ron in the chair by the fireplace, his head thrown back and his eyes closed.

"Are you awake?" she whispered, and Ron's eyes flew open.

"Yes," he said, cautiously. "Listen, Hermione, we have to talk. I know you can make your own decisions and everything, but as your friend, I really think you should—"

"Wait, Ron," she said, crossing the room and kneeling next to his chair. "I'm not saying I'm going to stop, but I think I'm going to be able to balance things now. I was giving things up...things I needed. I've decided I can't do that anymore."

"Are you sure, Hermione? Maybe it's too much for one person."

"Well, perhaps I was too hasty before. You could come with me. You'd have to be careful, though. There are rules about time travel."

"What about the—" Ron began, then turned red and abruptly stopped talking. Hermione decided he was about to ask about the Pensieve, before he realized he didn't want her to know that Ginny had divulged the secret to him.

"The Pensieve?" she asked, and his eyes widened before he looked guiltily away from her. "I actually owe you an apology. I eavesdropped on you and Ginny."

"She only told me because she's worried about you," he said, earnestly defending his sister. "And I would never have spied on you by looking into the Pensieve. I know it would be wrong."

"You might have done, Ron, but that's all right. Even though you know it would make me angry and embarrassed, you would have chanced doing it, just to try to help me."

"Don't make me out to be such a hero," he said, his eyes falling to his lap. "It wasn't all to help you, you know. Some of it was selfish. I just wanted you back."

"I wanted you back too. I just didn't know how much until now," she said, feeling a rush of emotion as his eyes met hers again. "I really think I'm going to be all right."

They were quiet for a moment, but it felt nice. She longed to make the moment even better and take his hand the way he'd taken hers at the pond, but she couldn't quite summon the courage.

"Why would you have been embarrassed if I'd looked inside the Pensieve? You're the one helping Harry, while I can't think of a single useful thing to do. I can't even get my parents to rescue him from those horrible people he has to spend summers with."

She answered him with silence, wondering if she could ever tell him how she'd ended up using the Pensieve. Having so many of her memories back all at once was overwhelming her, and they were speaking with much more convincing voice than her cautiousness and logic seemed to have. They whispered to her to take a chance, now, in the middle of the night, with only the moon to overhear them.

"What do you have to hide from me? I'm the useless one," he said, confirming her suspicion that he believed he had no real place in the fight.

"I couldn't do anything without you, and neither could Harry." She took his hand before she could stop herself again. "Do you really think Harry or I would still be here without you?"

"Then why have you been ignoring me? I can't get you to spend two seconds with me, and don't tell me it's because you're preoccupied with helping Harry. It's more than that."

"It is more than that, Ron," she admitted.

"What then? What did I do?"

"Nothing," she told him, and then realized that wasn't true. "Everything," she amended, finding relief in being honest with him, even if he didn't understand what she meant.

"Hermione, what are you talking about? I'm not smart like you. You have to explain it."

"Promise me you'll always be my friend," she said, impulsively. "That you'll never let anything change that."

"You know I won't. You mean every—" he cut himself off, and began again. "You and Harry mean everything to me."

"And you and Harry mean everything to me." She took a deep breath. "But it isn't Harry who's distracting me from what I have to do. It's you."

"Hermione, I told you. I'm sorry I've gotten in the way of your research. You know I only did it because I was worried for you."

"That's not what I'm talking about. The Pensieve did hold some of my thoughts and theories about how we can help Harry, but mostly, it was about you." She looked down at their joined hands, suddenly aware of what she'd just admitted to him.

"Why would you need to—" he said, trailing off after a sharp intake of breath.

She tried to interpret the silence, coming inexorably to the one conclusion she dreaded. He surely didn't feel the same way.

She pulled her hand away from his, unable to look at him. She stood and took a few, quick steps toward the stairs, needing to escape.

"I can't stop thinking about you either," he said, and she froze where she stood.

"What do you—"

"I don't know what it means any more than you do," he said. She whirled around to face him, watching as he closed the distance between them uncertainly at first, but then with more purpose.

"Ron," she said, and found herself at a loss for words.

"I'm not wrong, am I?" he said, his voice breathy with wonder.

He bent his head toward her and she kept her eyes open until the last moment, unable to believe that Ron Weasley, her best friend and guiltiest obsession, was going to kiss her.

Until he did just that.

* * *

It wasn't until five years later that she thought of any of this again, as Harry raised a glass to both on them on the eve of her wedding to Ron.

"I knew the two of you were meant to be, Hermione, the day you were able to forgive him for working out the combination of spells we used to defeat Voldemort," Harry said, smirking at her as he held his glass aloft.

"Harry Potter," she sputtered, only half-joking, "I thought we'd resolved this years ago. Ron was there, and yes, he did make an off-handed comment about why it was such a shame that we couldn't combine two of the spells we'd been researching, but I'll remind you now that I was the one who—"

"We _know_, Hermione," Ron said, grinning at her in that mischievous way that no one else seemed able to match.

"If you know, then why have the two of you spent the last five years holding it over my head?" she said, fully giving over to mirth, but not quite ready to admit it to either of them.

"Because he thinks you're beautiful when you're angry, Hermione," Harry said, taking a long sip of butterbeer as he looked at her over the rim of his glass.

"That's not true, Harry," Ron said, looking so entirely serious that Hermione's heart jumped a bit at the notion that her soon-to-be husband didn't find her beautiful after all. "She doesn't have to be angry to be stunning. The rows just get me worked up, that's all."

Harry pulled a face at this information, which was apparently more than he'd like to know about his two best friends.

"Stop, Ron. You're making Harry uncomfortable."

"I'm fine, Hermione. I'm just glad we're all still here," Harry said, quietly.

Hermione reached across the table to cover his free hand with hers. Ron placed his large hand on top, and they sat that way, silent, with unshed tears glistening in their eyes.

"So am I, mate," Ron said, looking at both of them in turn. "So am I."

After a long, meaningful moment, Hermione pulled her hand away and used it to brush at the corners of her eyes. She felt a little silly crying as though she was still a hormone-filled teenager, but both of her friends seemed equally moved.

"I really need to get some sleep, or the only talk at the wedding will be about the bags under my eyes," she said, reluctantly. "The two of you should consider getting a few hours yourselves."

They nodded at her, and she could feel their eyes on her as she slipped away from them. She took one look back at Ron before she set off for good, and she knew she should be honest with herself.

Ron had saved them all, long before the infamous night that his flippant remark about combining the spells led her to that all-elusive Answer she'd spent the better part of her youth searching for. The moment she'd reclaimed her need for him from the Pensieve, she knew things would never be the same.

One look at her hand, at the shining sapphire and diamond peeking up at her from her ring finger, reminded her of that.

_The End_

Thank you so much for reading. I'd love to hear what you thought.


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